


Arrival

by OneofWebs



Series: Jaskier's Nest [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Comedy, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Praise Kink, Propositions, Public Sex, Siren Jaskier | Dandelion, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29539497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: After taking out a nest of sirens for a contract, Geralt encounters the firstmalesiren he's ever seen, and unfortunately, this siren piques his interest just a little too much. Really, taking the siren's deal is just a convenient excuse to finally know what it's like to fuck one of these winged horrors--the males aren't monstrous, anyway. Nobody has to know.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Jaskier's Nest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170200
Comments: 26
Kudos: 268





	Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> yoooooooo :) you can check out my tumbley stuff if u wanna know that this fic has been out for ages just not HERE.... but that's not important what is important is that this is supposed to be funny so please don't harp on Geralt too bad he's just horny. A lot of this stuff is also going to be personal headcanons about how the sirens work so ya know
> 
> hope you guys enjoy! comments and kudos super appreciated, and feel free to check out my other stuff if you like this. i do prompts on tumblr and stuff. also, this is gonna have a few more installments, so check out the series stuff.

For an agreed upon price of exactly three-hundred and twenty-seven crowns, because that particular Skelliger had been _such_ an ass about the idea of having to pay a Witcher for his time, Geralt was tasked with removing a new brood of sirens that had moved in near a lighthouse. It was making it increasingly difficult for the lighthouse keeper to keep up with his job, and therefore, a Witcher was needed. Geralt was in desperate need of the coin, and killing sirens wasn’t exactly the most difficult of jobs.

The price was so high, as Geralt soon realized, because there were so _many_ sirens. On first glance alone, he counted at least ten of them. They must have had a nest nearby for there to be so many. That didn’t account for any possibly in the water, either. Geralt readied the first bolt in his crossbow as the first siren spotted him. She dove right out of the sky for him, and he aimed. Steady. Steady— _shot_. She shrieked as she hit the ground, then Geralt drew forth his silver sword and slew her.

That was nine more to go at Geralt’s initial count, but two more flew up out of the water at the cry of their sister. Geralt grumbled to himself, but he readied the next bolt. He shot down the ones that he could, but some of them he cut straight from the sky as they dove to attack him.

One by one, Geralt felled the sirens. As far as he’d ever known, sirens were violent by nature. They lured sailors to their deaths under the guise of beautiful women, then turned harsh and monstrous to consume flesh. These sirens, however, seemed somehow more feral. Only the first one had the look of a woman. When she died, her skin had morphed away into the horrid monstrosity that rested beneath. The rest of them had just done away with the guise of beauty and dove for Geralt with sharp teeth and talons.

He struck them all done as they dove and attacked. He was caught more than once, but the battle was won. In his favor. Just like any other contract, really, except not. He was bleeding from a talon to the cheek, but he ignored it as he stepped up to where one of the sirens lay dead on the ground.

“Violent,” he muttered. “Not normally this volatile.” He looked at the creature’s horrid face, the long talons she had instead of nails in this half-fish, half-monster appearance. Something in the smell was off.

“Must be a nest nearby,” he decided. That was the only reason he could fathom they would have been just as violent as they were. Skellige wasn’t the safest place to wander, but Geralt had plenty of notches on the belt for instances where he’d just walked right by a brood of sirens. They didn’t always go straight for the attack, especially if they could tell the passerby was no easy prey. Geralt didn’t project like easy prey, and as long as they didn’t attack him or anyone in his view, he tended to leave the sirens to their business.

These ones, though. Something was strange. Something about the _smell_. It was nearing spring, though it was almost impossible to tell in Skellige. Geralt followed that smell down the length of the beach, and then it went straight up the cliff to his side. Geralt looked up, and then sighed. The things he did to sate his own curiosity. The cliff wasn’t entirely unclimbable, but he did wish he’d have brought Roach with him. She didn’t do so well on siren contracts, though.

Geralt pulled himself up one outcropping at a time, until he had reached the top of the cliff. Then, he followed the smell right up until the end. He didn’t need to approach all the way to see what he suspected, but he couldn’t stop himself from walking right up to the edge of the nest. His eyes were wide.

“That was _rude_.”

It was a siren. At least, Geralt _assumed_ it was a siren. It had to be. This looked like a siren’s nest, and this had the look of a siren. What caught Geralt off guard was that it was a _male_ siren. Geralt had been walking the continent as a Witcher for longer than he often cared to recount, and he’d never seen a male siren before. This one, too, was strikingly beautiful. He had soft brown hair, swooped to the left of his forehead. His eyes were bright blue.

When he’d spoken, Geralt had caught a glimpse of his teeth. That was just another indicator that this had to be a siren. He had terrifyingly sharp teeth, and his tongue looked to be long and slimy. The rest of him, though, despite the sharp claws he had, was soft. His skin was soft and pale, and it disappeared down into the long expanse of a practically glowing red tail. He was speckled with scales, too. They lined his jaw and sprinkled down his neck where they popped up all over his abdomen until they phased into the length of his tail.

The scales on his arms did the same thing, where his skin turned a bright red as the scales collected in large, uninterrupted formations down his forearms and over his hands. His wings were folded up at his hips, but Geralt could tell that they were, well—smaller than the female sirens. It must have been why he was still sitting in the nest, lounged back against the nest without a care in the world. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to escape or fight back; it may have been because he wasn’t able to.

“Pardon?” Geralt finally managed out.

“I said that was _rude_ ,” the siren repeated. “You just slaughtered my whole brood! And don’t try to deny it. I see the blood on you. Savage,” he spat. Then, he folded his arm like a petulant child. “What am I supposed to do with my sperm now?”

Geralt practically gawked. He’d really, really been trying to ignore it. But the siren was making it hard, now. Now that he’d just gone and said that. His cock was just right there, out in the open. Everything made sense, at least. It must have been close to mating season, which accounted for _this_ and how volatile the sirens had been.

“You can’t just say that,” Geralt said.

“I _can_ ,” the siren argued back. “I look forward to this, you know. Finally going to have a full nest again. It’s been a whole _year_ since I had any guppies to take care of.” The siren was pouting. Actually pouting. Geralt had never had a conversation with a siren before. He rightly didn’t know that they _could_.

“Guppies?”

“The little ones.” The siren was clearly annoyed. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Geralt,” came a hasty reply. Geralt was regretting even coming up here. Destroying the nest wasn’t a part of the contract, and killing this siren felt wrong. This one wasn’t entirely defenseless—the teeth and the talons told that story. But he wasn’t violent. He was rather cute, actually.

“Well, _Geralt_ , I think you owe me.” The siren shifted himself in the nest, sitting up a little straighter. He at least had strength enough for that. It was a large nest, and he had a large tail. He had several sets of fins, too, ones that were folded against his forearms. He was clearly built for swimming, which would beg logic that the females were built for flying.

“Owe you?”

“You killed my brood,” the siren pressed, frowning. “I’m Jaskier, by the way.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and he shouldn’t have.

Instantly, Jaskier changed his tune. He practically preened at the sound of his name and was suddenly shifting so he could pull himself forward to the edge of the nest. He laid out on his stomach, his tail flopped and bent up behind him. Suddenly, his wings sprawled out to cover the width of the nest. They were as beautiful as the rest of him, sparkling and bright in the sun. From this position, it was easy to see the sharp protrusions that grew along his spine. Hard enough to hurt, but soft enough to bend when he laid out on his back.

“Tell me I’m pretty,” Jaskier said. He was showing off, Geralt realized. He was showing off, as far as Geralt could figure, how _small_ his wings were by comparing them to the size of the nest. The nest had been built to his specific size, as his wings perfectly blanketed over it, but went no further. His tail was curled up to catch the glint of a half-setting sun, and he was smiling. His eyelashes batted. When he smiled, he kept his lips closed to appear demure and harmless.

“You are,” Geralt agreed, because he was. “You’re very pretty.”

Jaskier’s wings fluttered. “Have you ever seen a siren _more_ beautiful?”

Geralt shook his head. “Don’t believe I have.”

“I was supposed to make beautiful, beautiful babies this season,” he said. “You killed my brood. So, as I said— _rude_ , and you owe me.”

“Do I pay this debt by telling you that you’re pretty?” Geralt wondered. Jaskier seemed to like that particular thing. Even just at the mention of it, he preened again. The fins right at the tips of his ears fluttered. An interest little detail that Geralt had no reason to pay attention to.

“It’s mating season,” Jaskier said. “Are all you Witchers this stupid?”

Geralt was beginning to think they were. Eskel had fucked a succubus, and Geralt was pretty sure he was about to fuck a siren. Eskel may have even had the upper hand on that one. At least Eskel had the ability to ague he’d been coerced into it. Geralt could have killed Jaskier and been done with it, but he was actively listening to this proposition.

“I want you to _fuck me_ , Witcher,” Jaskier said. Sneered, really, enough that Geralt could see the sharp of his teeth. “And when you’re done, you’ll take me from this nest and find me a new one.”

“I’ll do _what_?”

Jaskier snorted. “You killed my brood. You can’t deny it, because there’s blood all over you!” Jaskier pushed himself up, and his wings fluttered in the same movement. It might have been something to intimidate, but Geralt was not afraid of this siren. He was too cute. “You’re obligated to find me a new nest. There must be _some_ empty nest around here, right?”

“Can’t find one on your own?”

“How exactly would you like me to do that?” Jaskier frowned.

Geralt could continue to play stupid, but he wasn’t actually that stupid. He could see the size of Jaskier’s wings and compare them to the size of his body. Maybe they had been strong enough to carry him once, but the way he was talking about those sirens Geralt had killed, Jaskier had been here for a while. His wings wouldn’t take him anywhere, anymore.

“How did you even get up here?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I was younger, once. Besides,” he sighed, “my lovely ladies _carried_ me up here. They were the first nest I found when I was just a little one, and they were so welcoming. I had to stay.”

After that, Geralt even felt a bit bad. Jaskier wasn’t just making it sound like he’d been here for a while. He was _telling_ Geralt that he’d been here for most of his life. Geralt had practically just slaughtered his family. Sirens must have had a different view on, since Jaskier didn’t seem entirely bent out of shape about it. He was mostly inconvenienced. He had been looking forward to having a full nest again, and Geralt had taken that from him.

“Alright,” Geralt grumbled. “I’ll find you a new nest. That make you happy?”

Jaskier preened again. “I want a _nice_ nest. You don’t just get to pick it and drop me off. You have to take me with you.”

“Deal. We’ll go nest-hunting. Find you a wonderful place to—do whatever it is you do in there.”

“Look pretty,” Jaskier clarified. “When there are eggs, I take care of them. That wasn’t the whole deal, though. Did you forget?” Jaskier pushed himself up so he could shift again so he could lay on his back and spread out his arms, his wings. Geralt had the perfect view of him.

Jaskier had beautiful skin, and somehow, and even more beautiful tail. His wings shimmered when he moved them. Geralt couldn’t help but take a glance at his cock, too. Just because it was right there, engorged and half-limp against his tail. Geralt didn’t know enough about sirens to know what it meant, but Jaskier was _clearly_ aroused. Arousal had brought his cock out of the slit that usually kept it concealed. Mating season had that effect. Below the base of his cock, though, Geralt could see the expanse of some sort of opening.

He really tried not to stare, but he was. Geralt didn’t sleep with men often, but when he did, they really fit this description of soft and pretty. And Jaskier was just offering. There was no flirting around, stepping on toes, and trying not to be too forward for fear of a rejection. This was just Jaskier spreading himself out in the nest for Geralt to gawk at and take in.

“Well, Witcher?” Jaskier asked. “Do we have a deal, or are you going to get out of that armor?” Jaskier had the tip of his index finger dancing along his bottom lip. He hadn’t actually given Geralt a choice in his question. Because he wanted this. Sure, Geralt had just killed Jaskier’s brood, but he did it looking the way that he did. Jaskier couldn’t really be angry. He wanted a taste of the Witcher for himself.

“I’ll let you take a sample of my sperm,” Jaskier said, hoping to really persuade Geralt. “I hear people after it all the time. Must be worth something, right?”

It was. It was a rare and _expensive_ alchemical ingredient. Geralt didn’t find himself in any ready need of it, but if Jaskier was offering, it would be rude to turn him down. At the very least, Geralt could find a peddler somewhere willing to pay a pretty crown or two for a full vial.

“Guess we got a deal,” Geralt said. He was already stripping off his swords as he approached. Jaskier chewed on his finger in excitement, watching with wide eyes as Geralt began to strip down in front of him.

“Have you ever fucked a siren?” Jaskier asked.

“Never fucked a _monster_ ,” Geralt admitted. “You’ll have to walk me through it.”

Jaskier practically shuddered. He sucked on his fingers before trailing them down his tail. He ignored his cock entirely, going straight for the opening right beneath. Geralt watched as Jaskier pressed his wet fingers right inside of himself. His tail flapped against the nest’s edge as he was immediately taken with the pleasure of it. It must have felt good; his hips bucked up into the touch, and he buried his fingers inside of himself as deep as they could go.

“This easy,” Jaskier promised. “Let me see you.” He couldn’t believe how easy it had been to convince Geralt to do this. Geralt must have been itching to try it, get his cock wet with the first willing, sentient monster he could find.

Jaskier was so painfully willing that he _groaned_ as Geralt started to remove his armor. When he bared his chest, Jaskier was practically shaking around his fingers. He was fucking them into himself, spreading open his hole in hopes that Geralt would just sink right into him. But then, Geralt went for his trousers. Neither those nor his boots were removed, as Jaskier’s nest didn’t exactly offer a comfortable place for Geralt to be, but he undid his belt and loosened the laces.

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, and his gills flapped. He muttered something in an unintelligible language, then shifted. “Do _all_ humans look like that?”

Geralt stepped into the nest, finally, his cock in hand. He wasn’t hard, but quickly working himself there at the stroke of his hand. Jaskier was entranced, watching Geralt come closer. He shifted down to one knee at a time, straddling the width of Jaskier’s tail right below his genital slit. It was nestled between two symmetrical flaps that jutted out from his tail, like thicker fins. They were layered heavily but spread out now to help frame and show off his thickening cock.

“Not a human,” Geralt rasped. “I’m a Witcher. Humans don’t look like this.

Jaskier shuddered. “Lucky you came around, then. Anything smaller wouldn’t be worth the trouble.” He spread his fingers out inside of himself, trembling at the pleasure.

Geralt offered a smirk. “Seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Jaskier nodded hurriedly, slinking lower against the side of the nest. He was all spread out, and like this, Geralt could really just _admire_ him. He was beautiful, and his wings seemed to be put together like glass. They were gorgeous, but when Geralt touched one, it was made of strong, thick sinew. Just the sight of Jaskier like this, hips bucking up into his own fingers, had Geralt’s cock hardening in his hold. Jaskier’s own cock was tapered with a thick base and a thin, almost tentacle like head. The difference was astounding, when Geralt got close enough.

Without even a touch to really cause it, Jaskier moaned. Just the _sight_ of Geralt’s cock near his has him thrumming with pleasure. He let Geralt touch, too. Geralt wrapped a free hand around the base of Jaskier’s cock and stroked it all the way to the tip, standing it up straight. It was longer than Geralt’s, but significantly thinner, even with how the base engorged. Mating season was likely the cause. Geralt stroked his thumb along the thick base, straight up the underside. Jaskier shivered in response.

“Let you touch all you want later,” Jaskier promised. “Let you look around and mess with anything you want. You can write your stupid human books about it.”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier. That sounded like an interesting proposition, though he couldn’t imagine what Witcher really needed to know male siren anatomy as intimately as Geralt was hoping to get to know it.

“I need you to fuck me,” Jaskier gasped. “Need that inside of me _now_.”

“Patience,” Geralt urged. “Not gonna hurt you.”

Jaskier shuddered and pulled his fingers back from himself. “That’s almost sweet,” he said.

“Hard not to be sweet,” Geralt said. He paused quickly to suck his own fingers into his mouth before swiping them around Jaskier’s slit. “You’re so _pretty_ , after all.”

Jaskier visibly shuddered. “Tell me more,” he said, watching as Geralt’s fingers neared his hole.

Jaskier’s skin was strangely slimy, Geralt found, but it made sense. They weren’t exactly part human, despite how they looked. The human appearance was mostly a disguise, a way to lure in prey. Jaskier’s skin was soft like a ray’s skin was soft. Smooth and strangely wet, but Geralt found he didn’t hate it. It even eased the friction of his finger as he pressed the first one into Jaskier. Jaskier’s hips bucked up, his tail flicked, and his gills flapped despite the fact he breathed through his throat.

The sensation of it all was _strange_ , Geralt found, but he didn’t hate it. The slickness he was met with was just about as strange as the rest of Jaskier, the way that his skin _looked_ soft but was wet to the touch. It kept him moist in the high sun, allowed rain to just beat off of him. That same feeling disappeared inside of him, where Geralt rubbed his fingers into Jaskier’s walls to make him twitch. Breathlessly, Jaskier panted at the feeling. His tail was flapping against the side of the nest.

While he’d gone straight for two fingers, Geralt was slower. Everything about this was something to savor, from the way Jaskier’s hole opened up around him and fluttered to the strange, wet feeling of his walls. Jaskier somehow spasmed around him, leaning back into his nest and groaning. That was when Geralt pressed a second finger inside. Jaskier’s hips—or what was close enough to be hips—bucked up into the touch. His walls tightened and spasmed around Geralt’s finger.

Geralt had bedded his fair share of men, but very few of them reacted so strongly. Jaskier was whimpering into his hand, eyes closed as the pleasure coursed through him. Like he was _made_ to be touched here, every pass of Geralt’s finger had him shifting and moaning. Geralt leaned closer, wanting to get a better look. _Everything_ shifted with Jaskier’s pleasure. His wings fluttered just as much as the fins hanging from his hips did. Even his gills flapped as pleasure thrummed through him.

“You are so pretty,” Geralt told him, and Jaskier choked on his next moan.

“More,” he managed out. “You _owe_ me—”

“Patience,” Geralt told him. Jaskier keened as Geralt continued the movement of his fingers.

Geralt worked a third finger inside. Jaskier spread open without resistance, blooming around Geralt’s fingers. His walls were slick by their nature, and Geralt found he could work his fingers in all the way to the third knuckle, where the size of his hand prevented anything further. Jaskier was looking at him, though, where Geralt’s fingers disappeared and knuckles pressed against his skin. Jaskier nibbled on the back of his own fingers as thoughts coursed through his head.

There was little time to think about anything as Geralt’s fingers spread apart inside of him. Jaskier jaw dropped open, and Geralt could see his rows of sharp teeth. The sight made him shudder. As pretty as Jaskier’s lips were, red and glistening like the rest of him, that was no mouth Geralt wanted to sink his cock. He might want to kiss it, though, and that was dangerous. This was just supposed to be a fun fuck, something _new_ , but Geralt was having a hard time looking away from Jaskier.

“Look like you want something,” Jaskier muttered.

“Want to kiss you,” Geralt rasped. He crooked his fingers like he was looking for something inside of Jaskier, but no matter where he touched, Jaskier reacted the same. It was beautiful every time, the noises he made, like the entire hole was just sensitive skin meant to be touched.

“Kiss?” Jaskier shuddered. Then, he nodded in a rush. “Yes—yes, kiss me. Witcher, come closer—” He reached out for Geralt, and Geralt let himself be pulled up. He had to move far enough that his fingers were pulled from Jaskier’s hole, but the moan he made was swallowed as their lips pressed together.

That moment, Geralt stole to run his hands over the rest of Jaskier’s body. He was cool to the touch, despite how hot the air was between them. At the first press of something long against his lips, Geralt opened his mouth. Jaskier’s _tongue_ was there, long and slippery like the rest of him. It was long enough to touch right along the confines of Geralt’s throat, and that just had Geralt kissing _deeper_. He wanted to know what that tongue could do.

Jaskier got his fingers into Geralt’s hair to pull him closer. They both groaned into the kiss, the deeper that it turned. It was hot, fiery. Geralt wouldn’t dare chance his tongue in Jaskier’s mouth, but he could lap at Jaskier’s own as it probed along his teeth and the ridges. Geralt’s cock was achingly hard, precum pearling at the tip by the time their kiss broke apart. Jaskier was panting, tongue draped out of his mouth as it was the last thing to leave their kiss.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier gasped.

“You want to touch, too?” Geralt asked with a crooked eyebrow.

The suggestion had Jaskier shuddering. He reached without hesitation to get a hand around the base of Geralt’s cock. Geralt was so thick in his hand, and there was long, protruding vein along the underside that Jaskier traced as he stroked the shaft. It twitched in his hold. Jaskier’s hand was wet simply by his nature, and that made his touch too good. Geralt leaned forward to brace himself on Jaskier’s hip, bucking his own straight through Jaskier’s fingers.

“Is it always just out like this?” Jaskier asked, half breathless.

Geralt nodded. After an experimental squeeze of Jaskier’s hand, he groaned low in his throat. All at once, Jaskier let go of Geralt’s cock and flopped back against the side of the nest, breathing hard. His tail flapped, earning Geralt’s attention. That was enough for Geralt to know what happened next. Jaskier couldn’t stand another moment of this.

After settling himself back around Jaskier’s tail, knees spread out to accommodate the size between them, Geralt went back to petting around his hole. Jaskier trembled at the touch, his back arching. His cock twitched, too, weakly against his hip.

“Let me feel you,” Jaskier muttered. “Inside me—stop _teasing—_ _”_ He cried out as Geralt’s fingers dipped into him again.

“Wanna make sure you can handle it,” he said.

Jaskier nodded hurriedly. “I can,” he insisted, breathless. “I can, I can— _fuck_ me, Witcher.”

“My name is Geralt.”

Geralt pulled his fingers back, then leaned over Jaskier so his cock would be at the right angle to press into him. He braced himself on the nest’s edge with one hand and used the other to guide his cock home. The initial press of the head was all it took to have Jaskier crying out and baring his neck as he stretched to accommodate the size of it.

“ _Geralt!_ ” He cried.

At the sound of that, Geralt practically growled. He fucked down into Jaskier with one hard jerk of his hips, and Jaskier cried out again. Geralt felt it too, as he sunk fully inside—their hips were practically pressed together, and the head of Geralt’s cock _hit_ something. Like the end of the passage. Geralt braced himself on the nest, panting.

“ _Fuck_ , Jaskier,” he groaned. “You’re like something out of a wet dream.” Jaskier was so tight around him, wet and spasming.

Jaskier’s hips bucked up, but there was nowhere deeper for Geralt to _go_. They were already as close as they could get, Geralt’s cockhead rubbing dangerously into the end of Jaskier’s passage. It sent sparks all the way back through his spine, making his hips jolt on their own. With how Jaskier felt around him, Geralt was practically shaking. This was unlike anything he could have imagined. Jaskier was clawing at him, desperately.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped. “ _Fuck_ —never anything so thick.”

Geralt pulled his hips back and snapped forward. The sounds he ripped out of Jaskier’s throat were beautiful, a song in their own right as he leaned back into the edge of the nest and just let his jaw open. His scales glistened in the sun, and Geralt couldn’t help himself.

“If you’re not the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen—” Geralt reached up to thread his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier shuddered beneath him, fins flapping and tail flicking up behind Geralt.

“More.” Demanded on a breathless gasp. Jaskier was practically crying for it, showing himself off as best he could like it might entice Geralt closer.

It did. Geralt set his pace—hard and fast. Their hips slapped together. When Geralt ground down into Jaskier, scales dug into his skin, even through the thick fabric of his trousers. Jaskier was so _wet_. Geralt could hardly get a grip on him, but when he did, Jaskier melted under the touch of nails against his skin. He clutched around Geralt’s neck, his talons digging into Geralt’s skin. Geralt’s medallion hung low between them, and the way it glinted in the sun caught Jaskier’s eye.

His attention was stolen back when Geralt canted his hips again. The harder he rubbed right up against Jaskier’s walls, the more he felt. The more Jaskier spasmed and cried out, his mind lost to the pure, unadulterated _pleasure_ he felt. At the first press of Geralt’s lips against his neck, Jaskier practically lost himself. Geralt mouthed over his gills, which flapped wildly the deeper Jaskier breathed. Geralt caught one of the bits of skin between his teeth and sucked

In response, Jaskier bucked wildly. He squeezed sharply into Geralt’s back, scratching and leaving him red. He was panting, practically writhing beneath Geralt. His passage spasmed around Geralt’s cock, trying to suck him impossibly deeper. Each time their hips collided, Geralt fucked right against the end of Jaskier’s hole. It left him shuddering and moaning no better than wanton whore.

“Geralt— _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier cried out for him, fingers in his hair, scratching up his back. “Get your fucking— _vial_ ,” he gasped out.

“Are we really—?”

“ _Yes!_ _”_

Geralt pulled back just enough that he could reach his bag, but never once did he stop working his hips. In the absence of his heat, Jaskier reached for his own cock and stroked himself. His eyes were closed, face scrunched up in his pleasure. His hips bucked, fins flapping wildly. He looked so _close_. Geralt gave him the empty vial when Jaskier reached for it, and then he got to _watch_ as Jaskier came on his cock. Jaskier’s entire body spasmed with it, and his back arched.

The head of his cock was lithe enough to fit right into the vial, and he came in copious amounts. Not quite ready to lose himself, Geralt took a tight hold on Jaskier’s hips and continued to fuck into him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from that vial, watching as Jaskier filled it. Those last few drops were somehow enough to have Geralt feeling that growing fire. Jaskier barely had the time to cork the vial before Geralt was coming inside of him.

Geralt’s hips stuttered as he came, a groan ripping right from his throat as the pleasure overwhelmed him. Then, he went limp, barely able to hold himself up over Jaskier. From the look on his face, Jaskier wouldn’t have minded being squashed under Geralt’s weight. Geralt might have minded; he was wet enough just from being this close. Still, it was practically a chore to pull himself away from Jaskier. The tight confines of his passage were a welcome feeling around Geralt’s cock and leaving that left him shivering.

“You _really_ just fucking did that, didn’t you?” Geralt said as Jaskier presented him with the vial.

“I promised, didn’t I? Just take your stupid sample.” Jaskier sighed and rested back into the nest when Geralt took the vial and shoved it back into his own bag. He hadn’t expected Jaskier to be so serious about things. It was just as endearing as it was funny. Geralt cracked a smile as he settled down on his rump beside Jaskier.

“You wanna go again?” Jaskier asked, shifting up to his side. “Could go for another round.”

“Always this horny?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Mating season is soon. I’m _supposed_ to be like this. If you hadn’t killed my brood, they’d be satisfying me.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. Though, he supposed it made sense for Jaskier to be the focus of mating season. He was the one male in a group of what had been nearly ten or twelve females. They each only had to go once, but Jaskier had to be aroused enough for all of them.

Suddenly, Jaskier keened and shifted again, doing the best that he could to sit up. He looked out over the edge of the nest, his tail curling up against his chest. It was getting dark, and he wasn’t sure how bright of an idea it was to travel this late at night. With that in mind, he looked back to Geralt. Geralt looked far more comfortable in a siren’s nest than he had any right to be, given that he’d just slaughtered an entire brood of them. An entire brood minus one.

“You’re still going to find me a nest, right?” Jaskier muttered. He chewed on his bottom lip, and how that didn’t immediately pierce his skin left Geralt in wonderment. “It’s just—” Jaskier shifted again. “—I won’t last long without one.”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier. “Find you a nest,” he said. “Promise. Could we leave when it’s light, though?”

Jaskier nodded. This time, when he shifted, it was to lay back down in the nest. He faced Geralt, one wing cinched up beneath him and the other suddenly stretching out to cover over Geralt. Jaskier flicked his tail up, too, so a great deal of it rested over the lower half of Geralt’s legs. Geralt, who had been comfortable a moment before, with his arms curled up beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, opened his eyes again to glare at Jaskier.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t leave,” Jaskier muttered. If he’d said it any other way, Geralt might have been angry at the insinuation. There was pure worry on Jaskier’s face, like something was settling in him that made him afraid of, not just Geralt leaving him, but what would happen if Geralt did.

Without really knowing what had him going soft, Geralt reached out and brushed his thumb along Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier looked up at him, then, almost in a jerk. He wasn’t expecting to be touched at all, and certainly nothing quite so kind.

“Promise, I’m not leaving you here,” Geralt said. “Make sure you have a new place to stay.”

“You won’t kill them, will you?”

Geralt quirked a small grin. “Won’t kill you, either. Feel bad for what I did, honestly.”

“ _Good_.” Jaskier stuck out his long, slimy tongue. Then, he settled down against his own arms and sighed. “Thank you,” he said. “ _Really_ wouldn’t mind if you wanted to fuck again. You haven’t even put away your cock.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You haven’t, either.”

“Mine doesn’t go away until mating season is done. _You_ interrupted it.”

“You said it hadn’t even started yet.”

Jaskier huffed. “You owe me!” He yelped.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the hip then and dragged him closer together. His cock was only half-hard, but he didn’t think that was going to be much of a problem. With Jaskier’s wing over top of him, Geralt was warm and well-guarded from whatever was outside the nest. He could certainly give himself another go at this.

He pressed his cock into Jaskier again, rocking his hips into that wet vice until his cock had no choice but to stiffen up completely. Jaskier moaned as it thickened inside of him—a feeling unlike anything he’d had before. It left him breathless, eyes closed. He grabbed at Geralt, making sure they were pressed close together. The length of Jaskier’s tail did Geralt no favors here, but there were worse fates than to be pressed against Jaskier’s chest as he fucked him.

Like this, he could feel the rumble through Jaskier’s body when he moaned. Jaskier carded talons through his hair, careful not to scratch but not always successful. If Geralt walked out of this looking like he’d been mauled, maybe he could talk the contract-giver into paying him some more. This was clearly a harder battle than he’d expected.

Come morning, Jaskier was kind enough to un-blanket Geralt from his various body parts so Geralt could get up and get dressed. He was only mostly dry, since Jaskier apparently had an affinity for cuddling. Geralt had woke up with Jaskier tucked up beneath his chin, against his chest. While he hated to admit, Geralt hadn’t minded the closeness. He’d even pet through Jaskier’s hair to wake him up. Now, he was getting back into his armor and strapping his weapons to his back.

Jaskier hadn’t so much as gotten out of the nest. Geralt turned to look at him, then folded his arms.

“I’m not carrying you.”

Jaskier frowned. “You don’t _need_ to carry me. I mean, it’d be nice, you know. At least help me down to the water.”

“The water?”

“Do you think I’m going to sprout legs? It’s not as if you’ve brought something conveniently big enough to carry me, have you? I haven’t actually flown in years. Doubt I could do it now, no matter how much you want a magic trick.”

Geralt snorted. He should have brought Roach. She was probably munching happily on hay in the town he’d left her. She didn’t have to be dealing with this, which was apparently one petulant little siren. Though, little wasn’t exactly the right word. Jaskier was large. He was one of the larger sirens that Geralt had ever come across, though that seemed to work against him. As he’d said himself, he couldn’t fly. If he could get into the water, he would at least be able to swim along the shore while they searched.

“Why do I need to help you find a nest if you can just swim to one?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier stared at Geralt, his eyes wide with something akin to fear. He chewed on his bottom lip before deciding on how to answer. “Need someone to protect me,” he muttered. He flicked his tail up so Geralt could get a better glimpse at the massive thing, glittering in the sunlight, bright red.

“Easy to spot,” he said. “We don’t live long without nestmates. Even if I went by land—it’d take me too long. Someone would—” Jaskier sucked in a deep breath. He held himself up by one arm and used the other to rub over his shoulder. “Someone would get me.”

Geralt nodded. “Usually, I require payment for things like this. But since it’s my fault, we’ll consider this even.”

Jaskier smiled. It was, quite literally, one of the most beautiful smiles Geralt had ever seen. He really couldn’t go back on this now, even if it were going to be a great struggle and a half to get Jaskier wherever he needed to go. Not only did he have to ensure Jaskier survived the trip, but he had to actually _find_ a nest.

Once Geralt was ready to go, Jaskier shifted himself around to his front, so he could hold himself up on his arms. Jaskier had more fins than Geralt had ever seen on a siren, and this was apparently why. In a pinch, with how thick they were, they could help move him. Which, while it was certainly no graceful way to travel, it was enough to get Jaskier out of the nest. Getting him down the cliff would be the harder part; Jaskier was too big for Geralt to carry, even if he knocked back a potion.

He could help Jaskier down the cliff, no matter how stupid they must have looked to anyone unlucky enough to see a Witcher _helping_ a monster. It was mostly a tumble, but they got to the beach without much fanfare. Jaskier stopped there, looking down the path where he could see the corpses of his brood. There was a sour look on his face, but he didn’t dwell on it for too long. There was no time to dwell on it. He had to find another nest; that was his only chance of not joining them.

Geralt helped him the final way into the water, and once he was there, Jaskier was back in his element. He ducked his head beneath the surface, then popped back up and stretched. He felt great. He probably _looked_ great, from how Geralt was gawking at him. His fins all stretched back out, as did his wings.

“You really are pretty,” Geralt said, and Jaskier preened.

“Shall we head south?” Jaskier asked. “You’ll protect me, right? From the monsters and the people?”

Geralt nodded. “You’ve my word. We’ll head south.”

That was exactly what they did. They headed south. There would be no delays, hopefully, except there were. Jaskier hadn’t been kidding when he said he was painfully easy to spot. He sparkled even more with the water reflecting off of him. Sure, that must have been a good way to attract nestmates, but it also attracted drowners. A lot of drowners. Geralt lost count by the fifteenth one of how many he’d cut down. At that point, they were hitting the point if _south_ that turned into people.

At that point, Jaskier headed out for deeper waters so he could duck beneath the surface. He was already mostly below the surface, but his spines poked out of the water, and there was a massive fin on the back of his tail that gave him away. Farther away from shore, he could disappear altogether. Geralt just had to walk through town, and Jaskier was waiting for him at the other end. Where, of course, there were more drowners. Save the town, save the fish—Geralt’s work was never done.

They continued for what felt like _hours_. Geralt was really regretting not bringing Roach now, but this was just what he had to suffer through. Their journey looked to be coming to an end, anyway, when Geralt looked up just in time to see swooping sirens in the distance. He glanced out to Jaskier, who was more or less floating down the shore on his back than he was actually swimming. Jaskier couldn’t fly, but he could apparently swim for hours without tiring.

Jaskier saw the sirens, too. It didn’t make him look any less comforted. He’d spent the entire journey afraid for his life, really. Seeing more sirens didn’t necessary mean that his journey was over. There were nests all over Skellige. If all of them already had males, Jaskier might as well just ask Geralt to shoot him dead in the water. It’d be a kinder death than whatever awaited him.

“Should we check it out?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier gave an affirmative nod, but he didn’t talk. He just ducked his head back onto the water, and they continued.

It took another solid hour before they reached where the sirens actually were and weren’t just subject to their swooping. It was quite a sight to watch sirens fly. According to Jaskier, they were _playing_. Exercising might have been a better word for it, but sirens apparently did know how to have a nice time. Their swooping seemed more and more dangerous the closer they got. It seemed even _more_ dangerous when they were close enough that they were spotted.

One siren was larger than the rest. If Geralt was to be discerning, he would say she was even larger than Jaskier—in tail size, at least. Their upper bodies seemed to stay the size of a human, but still, she was sizable. Her wings were large enough to keep her airborne. She was hovering in the air when she saw Geralt approach. She saw him first, and potentially, didn’t see Jaskier at all. Jaskier wasn’t a threat. Geralt was a threat. He was a Witcher, and Witchers killed sirens.

She dove at him, shrieking out something loud and horrifying. Geralt didn’t so much as flinch. All he did was step back and put his hands up in a show of surrender. He didn’t go for his sword, and he didn’t go for his crossbow. When she finally reached him, talons in his shoulders, he spoke.

“Wait!” He shouted, and her wings flapped only once.

She looked at him inquisitively. Geralt wasn’t sure if she understood him, but she certainly understood _something_. She flapped her wings once more, but only to land herself on the beach. With the talons gone, Geralt shifted his shoulders and cracked his neck. That’d certainly hurt. Then, he looked down at her. She had a dull yellow tail, almost brown, really. None of the females seemed to be quite as vibrant as Jaskier was. This one was just big, and her tail sported an impressive number of scars.

Her hair was long enough to cover her bare breasts, and then some. It was beautiful, soft, and blonde. Her eyes were blue when she looked up at Geralt, though beneath them, he could see the hollow black of a monster. If he wasn’t careful, she could kill him. She was only docile because he hadn’t attacked back. Instead of attacking, she just stroked through her own hair.

“Brought you something,” Geralt said, then gestured out to the water in case she couldn’t understand him. She could understand he was pointing, and she followed the trail of his finger out to the sea.

Geralt knew she was no siren. She was something more powerful; she was an ekhidna. They were bigger, stronger sirens. He’d felled a great many in his past, but this one, he wouldn’t touch. Her eyes widened when she looked out to sea. Jaskier had finally popped out of the water, though he looked afraid. There was every chance they already had a male, in which case, Jaskier was an unwelcome guest. They would not want him here if their nest was already filled.

Suddenly, the ekhidna surged back up into the air on the great heft of her wings. It was powerful, as was her shriek. She dove straight for the water, and Geralt readied to grab his sword. Jaskier hadn’t told him what they would _do_ if they already had a male, just that they wouldn’t want him. Would they kill him? Was she going to pull him from the water and hurt him? She transformed mid-flight into a monstrous, horrifying creature with gangling arms and big teeth. She wouldn’t need to try hard to kill Jaskier.

She swooped down and snatched him right out of the sea. Geralt rushed to the edge of the water, but the only way he could stop this was to shoot them down. That could hurt Jaskier, and he had _promised_ not to harm him. This was stupid. They were monsters. Witchers killed monsters, but he’d fucked that one instead. Now, he had this soft spot growing in his heart. He was watching this monstrous ekhidna take Jaskier off, and he was worried.

Geralt hurried down the beach after them, and what he saw was enough to send him straight into shock. At the turn of a rock, Geralt found a cove. At the far side of it, there was a half-cave that provided shade and a shallow pool. All around there were sirens, and none of them beautiful. In the middle of the private pool, there was a rock jutting straight out of the water. Across the way, tucked up in the safety of the rocks that surrounded the cove, there was a nest.

Had Geralt been any faster, he might have arrived to see the nest empty and know that this was safe. What he found instead was just as affirming that this _was_ safe. Jaskier had been planted in the nest, and the ekhidna was on top of him. Their tails were tangled, and she was hunched over top of him with spines protruding from her back. She had him pinned down. To an outsider, it looked threatening and dangerous, but Geralt could tell it wasn’t.

Jaskier had her monstrous face cupped in his hands, and he was smiling. When she leaned into him, their foreheads bumped. Jaskier looked so positively _pleased._ Joy had his gills flapping and tail flicking against the sand. He was laughing, too, when she hissed at him. The noises out of her throat sounded like something, but Geralt couldn’t possibly know. He was too far away to hear, and she didn’t seem to speak in any language he understood.

Now that he knew Jaskier was safe, he didn’t have much to worry about. Still, he couldn’t help himself but walk around the length of the cove. The sirens watched him warily, but none attacked. They allowed him to walk straight up to the nest, but when he got too close, the ekhidna turned to him and _hissed_.

“Wait, wait,” Jaskier said, turning her head back to him. “He’s a friend,” he said. “Promise. He won’t hurt us.”

That seemed to calm the ekhidna. She finally relented. Watching her nestle down against Jaskier’s side seemed almost an impossible sight. All Geralt had ever known of these monsters was their violence, and here, he watched the ekhidna wrap herself around Jaskier and hold him close. He didn’t seem to mind the way she looked. If anything, Jaskier seemed _enthralled_ by the monstrous form. He stroked side of her face, like the wrinkled scaled texture of it was as smooth as perfect skin.

“Her name is Priscilla,” Jaskier said, looking at Geralt. “Isn’t that beautiful? Isn’t she perfect?”

Geralt tried not to grimace. “Perfect,” he agreed.

Jaskier frowned, though. He must have seen the look on Geralt’s face change, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned to Priscilla and kissed her on her forehead, right above her nostrils. She seemed entirely too pleased with his existence, and wrapped her long, bony arm around his waist. She held him close, nestling her head down on his chest. In turn, Jaskier draped his fingers through the long, stringy hair on her head. Before she rested entirely, she let out another bone-shattering shriek.

All at once, the rest of the sirens rose up from wherever they were. Some came out of the water, and some dove off the cliffs. Within an instant, all of them were around the nest. Priscilla didn’t move from her coveted spot, but the rest of them did their best to pile around Jaskier. As long as they had a hand on him, he was happy. They were happy. It turned into one large pile of—well, Geralt was struggling to distinguish much from the tails and wings. They were mostly tails and wings.

“Geralt—Geralt!” Jaskier called for him from beneath the pile. “Come back to visit, okay?”

“Assuming this is your new home, then?” Geralt huffed and folded his arms.

“They’ve taken quite a shining, indeed. Do come back. Please? We’ll have guppies, soon! I almost always pass on my beautiful tail, so you _must_ come see them before they turn all bitey.”

Geralt breathed out a chuckle. “Yeah. Be in Skellige for a while, so I’ll come back.”

Jaskier practically preened when he heard that. He laid back in his new nest, his new brood of sirens. They’d taken to him just perfectly, and he did apparently fill a spot that desperately needed filled. This nest was full—from Geralt’s count, there were eight sirens, in total. Jaskier made a very welcome addition as number nine.

With that taken care of, Geralt could finally return to town to collect on his contract. He did fully intend on fulfilling his promise to return. He’d never seen baby sirens before, so maybe he was just curious. He wasn’t about to admit that maybe he just wanted to see Jaskier again. At the very least, Jaskier had been a good fuck. If Geralt was feeling particularly peppy, he might have even admitted that he enjoyed Jaskier’s presence. He’d made a fun traveling companion.

**Author's Note:**

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